Leave flares that light
One singular with universe
At a time.
I am the director
Forced to fret from the wings
The audience their feeling,
The players their thought --
Both are something alien
But maybe seen, through some
Geometry that beats its drum
Because the heart does too
And all that needs to be
Forms from the vibration
For the purpose of whisking away --
That is not it, no, that one.
